Divine Intervention
by DJ Madcat
Summary: Okay, I'll be scrapping Seven Days, I'm afraid, and I won't be posting anything here till school ends. Just a parting gift to you guys, though. A Warrior from a higher order of existence intervenes the battle with Harvest only to screw up. Pls. R&R!!!


Author's Notes: This just popped out of nowhere… actually, when I was watching the opening cinematic of Diablo II's third act. (The movie where the Archangel Tyrael tries to stop Diablo from freeing Tal Rasha/Baal from his imprisonment but loses his sword and gets beaten to a pulp by Diablo and the latter. Why? Because that idiot, Marius, freed Baal whilst Diablo was busy running away from Tyrael's burning white sword!) Some people call the loss of words to type down writer's block or writer's constipation. What about the situation where the words and ideas just keep coming out like a flowing stream? Some people call it divine inspiration. I call it writer's LBM (Loose Bowel Movement) Ah, what am I saying!? Just read this!

Disclaimer: I don't own Vandread. If you wanna know who owns it, ask GONZO. As for all original characters, concepts and places, they all belong to me. That includes the 'Three Orders of Existence.' If you don't like the idea, please (I'm starting to get redundant, mentioning this with every fic I write) don't flame me! But do please tell me what I did wrong, or what you didn't like… politely.

            _Lo and Behold the three orders of existence, mentioned in ascending formation. There exists the Terrestrial Universe, where humanity is currently at war with itself, Corrupted Pexis against Befriended Pexis. Above it all, observing the fray with stalwart faith in humanity yet fearing for it, is the vast and peaceful plane of existence known as Elysium. Elysium, however, is under the mighty hand and indirect guidance of the highest order of existence, the land within which resides the Creator and his throne… the land of Paradise._

_            And so it shall come to pass, that Paradise, under orders of the Creator, had re-initialized the Terrestrial Universe several times, the meaning of which is to wipe out the current race populating it… leaving not a single trace, all artifacts' molecules scrambled and returned to their original states. What could cause such punishment from above, you ask? Since the discovery of the Terrestrial Universe, Elysium had always been given orders from above to send a Pexis to observe the race that populated it._

_ Time and time again, through some twisted hand of fate, the civilization had always managed to discover… and corrupt… the Pexis, which would lead to disastrous results. This is why Paradise had acted so drastically over the past eons that races needed to develop. It was the duty of Elysium to notify Paradise about this, although Elysium's people themselves detested such actions._

_Humanity had corrupted the Pexis for the past hundred years, causing enough destruction and chaos to be reported to Paradise, but because humanity by far, had advanced the most in all Terrestrial races' history, re-initialization did not seem a proper judgment for them. This time around, before word of Pexis' corruption would ever be sent to Paradise, Elysium shall act to put a stop to the corruption of Pexis' second half, by destroying it… _

Divine Intervention By DJ Madcat 

Chapter 1: The Archangel Descends

            Around the Elysian council table sat five figures, hooded, beneath them, darkness. Nothing was seen of their faces but a pair of sharp white lights that could possibly stand for eyes. One of them, dressed in more elaborate clothes than the others, revealed his open palm to the table, a ball of white energy materializing in it as it did. The energy ball evolved into an image of the red Pexis of the Earth, seemingly glowering at the five superior beings. A voice rang out from under the Elysian's cover, "The Pexis that Earth has gotten its hands on has been corrupted and misused to the point that reporting this to Paradise would become necessary."

            "Councilor Didymus, are you telling us to report this to Paradise after all we've discussed?" another blurted out, "I shall not stand idly while Paradise destroys a civilization that could most possibly earn the right to be called self sufficient by the Creator!"

            "Councilor Thrax, you must calm down," the first figure, Didymus, head Councilor of Elysium, replied, "I have not said anything yet."

            "Then what must we do?" a third spoke up. He was Councilor Golder, another member of the Elysian high council, "We can't just report this to Paradise! You of all people should know that humanity deserves further observation! They have, after all, advanced the furthest in the history of the Terrestrial realm."

            "True, true," Councilor Hoarfost said, "But the only reason that they have advanced this far is because they only discovered the Pexis a thousand years after they achieved the ability to engage in interstellar travel. Had they discovered and corrupted it sooner, the Creator would've had them re-initialized at once."

            "I have a proposal, Councilor Didymus," came the plotting voice of Councilor Menandrus, "I suggest we suppress the half of the Pexis that the Earth has corrupted."

            "How are we going to suppress it then, Menandrus?" Golder asked, "Our Templar Warriors are not fit to engage in battle against the Pexis for it can easily overpower them."

            "What now?" Thrax said in dismay, "We are at the end of our options. The only other choice we have, although I greatly hate to admit it, is to report this to Paradise that the Terrestrial realm be re-initialized for the seventh time since its discovery six eons ago."

            Menandrus smiled if only he could, "Who said that a Templar was our only other option?"

            "What are you saying?" Didymus asked, "Who would be strong enough to even think of challenging the Pexis?"

            "There are the three Archtemplar, you know." The fifth councilor said, "Hugo, Dochmarael, and Felix are at least two dozen exponential levels more powerful than the strongest Templar Warrior."

            "That's preposterous!" Hoarfost exclaimed, "If we were to send even one Archtemplar, Elysium's defensive grid would be weakened appallingly!"

            "Enumerate one enemy that Elysium has," Menandrus shot back, "Just one, and I will forget that I ever said that."

            Hoarfost remained silent…

            "You see, Hoarfost?" came the scheming councilor's reply, "Why do we even have an army, when we don't have a single enemy in existence? I propose a vote to see whether the council agrees or not. All in favor of this action, say I."

            By far, only Hoarfost did not join the council's unison in saying I. He was always the paranoid type who thought that sooner or later, somebody was going to rise up against their rule. His fellow council members, though, didn't believe in such stupid notions and most of the time, the votes were unanimous.

            "Very well, then." Didymus concluded, "An Archtemplar shall be dispatched to the Terrestrial universe immediately. But the question is: Who are we to send?"

            Yet again, Menandrus smiled that invisible smile of his, saying, "I have already tabulated the selection, and I have seen that Dochmarael is the most likely candidate for this mission." He turned to a nearby sentry, "Guard! Summon Archtemplar Dochmarael immediately!"

            The armored being nodded in reply and closed its hand into a fist, focusing enough energy to open a communication portal to the said Archtemplar's location. A moment later, a tear in the space-time fabric occurred, Dochmarael's hooded being appearing, "You called, Councilor?"

            "The proposal has been approved, Dochmarael. Proceed to the Terrestrial realm at once." Came the reply from Didymus.

            "I see. Very well then, my high council, I shall move with great haste." He saluted as the com-portal closed, leaving the council table and its occupants in relative darkness once more.

***

            The Archtemplar Dochmarael waltzed over the flowery meadow, savoring the smell of the fresh air and the sight of such lovely wildflowers. One could hear the birds chirping and the hornets buzzing as a soft breeze passed. The vast greenery was an awed and envied scene to any human who ever laid his or her eyes on it, which never occurred at all. Verdant grass extended out seemingly infinitely, its boundaries marked by the silhouettes of blue, white-capped mountains. 

Golden sunflowers decorated the green, making excellent contrast, along with the multicolored wildflowers that they dwarfed. Butterflies and birds fluttered about, searching for places to perch besides the lone oak tree that stood like a grand spire among tiny insects. Nothing but blue sky in all directions, with occasional, sparse clouds passing by every now and then. He was going to miss this place… a lot. 

Being an Archtemplar, he enjoyed the privilege of having wings. Not the feathered wings birds or what the angels in human folklore had. No, he had six pairs of white, luminescent, tentacle-like wings, each one several feet long, cylindrical in shape, similar to an octopus'. 

            His broadsword's sheath did not conceal the fact that it was ignited up till the jeweled handle, by the holy white flames of Elysium's sacred altar that breathed power overwhelming into all weapons that it indwelled. 

His hood, like most Elysians', concealed his face, leaving only the glowing slits of his eyes to be seen by anything. His heavily armored form proved to be of no problem for him, for he had grown into the enchanted omni-adamantine armor that concealed his true power.

            The time was nearing, and he could feel the consciousness of the Clozark Gate focusing its energies to open another rift through dimensional walls to enable his passage. The Clozark Gate was Elysium's link to the other Orders of Existence and had a mind of its own. Why did it? The Creator believed that a sentient portal was the most prudent way to ensure nothing wrong happened during transport, and apparently, as always he was correct. Nothing has gone wrong in transportation ever since its creation. 

What if he failed? No, he wouldn't fail. He had a backup plan that ensured victory no matter the odds. Of course, that was only his backup plan. He expected to finish the mission with utmost perfection, suppressing the red Pexis without Paradise knowing, to ensure that humanity continues to develop under the remaining Pexis' guidance, and later, once proclaimed self-sufficient by the Creator, progress on their own whims.

            He focused energy of his own accord, opening a portal that led to the Clozark Gate's entrance. He drew his sword and slashed at the open air, the binds that tried to keep the tear closed severing immediately as the holy weapon sliced through molecules and ions. The empty space parted, the rift gawking wide open. He replaced the weapon into the sheath by his waist as he stepped through the tear.

            He thrust his open palm at the door as he exited, time-space continuum repairing itself in reaction to the energy he hurled at it. He turned to the spear-armed sentry who stood by the by now open Clozark Gate saying, "Allow me passage. The council has sent me on a mission." The sentry grunted a reply and saluted, confirming access.

            He leaped into the gateway, wings unfolded, sword drawn… the guard squinted as the Archtemplar vanished in a blinding light and loud crackle, the portal closing immediately afterward. "I just don't understand why the high council has to make such strange decisions. It is completely practical to just notify Paradise and have them re-initialize the Terrestrial Realm," a voice echoed from the ring that comprised the being of the Clozark Gate.

            "Being the superior race that we are, it is our duty to ancient law to be the caretakers of the Terrestrial Realm," the guard answred. "In doing so, there grows a bond between us and our pet universe the same way one grows between a human and his pet; this so-called 'love'."

            "You are as whimsical as the high council is, you know that?" the Gate replied. All the guard did in response was grunt yet again.

***

Captain Kyunmel Ozeki strapped himself into his bulky blue Vanguard as alarms blared all around the battleship's hangar, the smell of burning tobacco lingering in the cockpit. It had been half a year since the Allied Treaty was signed, and the three worlds of Tarak, Mejeele, and Meranos had come to the point of mutual coexistence. Since then, several Mejeelian and Meranosite upgrades have been made to his combat suit, now the new so-called 107-Type Vanguard. He still wasn't accustomed to some new systems, though, such as the shoulder-mounted Particle Eraser Gun, courtesy of Mejeele. 

The female engineer told him that it disintegrated targets at the molecular level, by causing atoms to explode, resulting in molecular death. She said it was very effective against large targets such as Motherships and the like. He just didn't understand how women were able to blame men of being violent when they themselves were capable of thinking up and constructing such destructive weapons as what he now possessed. One very good example was the Top Secret Mejeelian Black Project codenamed: GC-01. What Project GC-01 was, though, he could only guess, although, rumors about its nature were spreading all over the star system. One of the more practical ones said that female scientists managed to get their hands on the remains of the Earth's Planet Destroying Super Mothership and were using the technology to produce a weapon that had enough power to rival, and even surpass, the said ship's capabilities. 

He shook his head at the thought. Some times, he just needed to take a break from all that lecturing about 'Female Sociology' or 'Mejeelian Science', and using his Vanguard in battle against another oncoming Harvest fleet was the perfect way to get away from it all. Three minutes to Vanguard Deployment. He had plenty of time.

            As he sat there, thinking, he remembered the time he got his first scar. It was from the time when he was still a cadet, training to become a pilot. He had been wounded by one of those swords they were using during training. He saw so much blood that he fainted. He woke up in the infirmary some time later, and his instructor was there, sitting beside him, looking disappointed. 

"I have told you time and time again, Ozeki," the instructor started, "You must learn to treat the weapon not as an inanimate object. Treat it as a living, breathing organism whose very survival depends on how you use it! Synchronize your very soul with it. Only then will you understand what it is trying to tell you; how it should correctly move; how its instinct as such is the proper way of combat!"

Kyunmel had based his entire training foundations on each and every word that his instructor had iterated to him. This was how he grew up and eventually became one of the best and brightest of the Battalion. This was how he managed to climb his way to the top. This was how he understood the proper use of the new Mejeelian weapon that was added to his arsenal without so much as even listening to the female scientist babble along.

            "Yep, those were the days," he whispered solemnly to himself as he stumped his cigar's still burning butt into the built-in ashtray. Another improvement, Meranosite in nature. Two minutes to Vanguard Deployment. This was taking time, and he could already feel the ship being rocked by enemy fire. He visualized those little red cubes and those shit-like Cube Ejectors, or whatever they were called, pummeling Battleship Class Armor, and not doing so much as leaving a scratch, Solid and Energy-based projectiles being spewed forth from war vessels of three different factions joining into one. 

Intel stated that there were ten of the Cucumber-like Mothership bastards that penetrated the magnetic storm this time around, _A universal record if I ever saw one._ This was the second attack done by the Earth since their first defeat six months ago. Last time, they sent five, two of which got creamed by a refitted floating minefield and some renovations, what the Mejeelians called 'Nukes' or something like that. The three others were easy going thanks to the unity and coordination of the three forces, not to mention Nirvana and its unusual collection of special Dreads and Hibiki's Vanguard. Rumor had it that it was one of those nukes that forced them shut down one of their living units; a bomb scare to be exact.

            Ancient history states, though, that it was a male scientist by the name Albert Einstein who originally thought of the theory that eventually lead to the creation of Nuclear Bombs, or Atom Bombs, Nukes for short. One minute to Vanguard Deployment. He felt tired of waiting for the stupid signal, and was starting to get impatient. He saw that kid Hibiki Tokai enter his golden Vanguard after a nice long talk with that redhead girl. 

What was her name again? Dita? The strange thing was that she seemed to follow the boy wherever he went, resulting with the ship having to build a hangar designed for female Dread fighters. Their first impression on Kyunmel was astounding, really. Never in his entire life did the soldier ever see such an impressive machine such as the so-called Vandreads; especially the one that was made of three Dreads combining with the Vanguard that they called, well, obviously, the Super Vandread.

            His musings were interrupted by an announcement from the bridge, "Attention all pilots, this is your Commander speaking. Hangar bay is now open. Vanguard Deployment in Tee-Minus five seconds and counting."_ It's about time._ The airtight doors slowly opened to allow the passage of the only Dread on board via launch catapult, while Vanguards began to drop out into space through their own Deployment methods, each emptied launch bay sliding shut with the 'Deployed' sign printed on them.

            "And so, once again, we join in the communion of the fury of battle, pitted against a seemingly relentless foe who is just incapable of learning the lesson life wants to teach him. Sometimes it is they who are the ones to be pitied." He said almost prophetically as he launched his own Vanguard. He exited the ship just in time to stab a cube that was heading his way using his spear. 

            He saw the other Allied vessels joining each other in subgroups with the Nirvana and Paraiso leading the main defense force… just as always. Farther up ahead, he could see the ominous red of the Earth Nirvana, five of them to be exact, as the said ships transformed into their mech counterparts, and behind them, the ten Motherships lined up in a row. Each one had at least a dozen duplicated Vandreads by its side, adding up to a hundred and twenty of the unoriginal slobs. 

He could just make out some smaller activity besides fighting, several cubes crashing into each other, similar to the way Vandreads were created. _What now?_ His question was answered almost at once as a red explosion that had occurred faded out into what looked like a dark copy of the Super Vandread with an eerie carmine glow to it. _Never can make anything original, can you?_ The Earth always learned to adapt to their enemies sooner or later, and the fact that they were partly retreating and not advancing was proof of that. He piloted his Vanguard into the fray, skewering an oncoming Vandread Dita and throwing it at its friend, a Razor Sphere, the metalloid spines denting as the blue and red clone made contact, finally leading to destruction as the collision was completed. Very similar to the first move he made against them except the fact that a copy of Vandread Jura was what he first tossed, and it was a Cube Ejector that it had hit.

            Years of training and battle against the Mejeelians kicked in as he fought as though possessed, destroying Earth forces from cube cluster to Cube Ejector to Razor Sphere to Copy Vandread. About seven Cube Ejectors were headed for the way of him and his own team in a straight line, avoiding all small shots from their battleship, the Heike. 

An idea hit him as he remembered his discussion with himself earlier that day. He pushed a new key placed conveniently on his armrest, the mechanical device reacting almost immediately. The Particle Eraser Gun pivoted itself a 270-degree vertical rotation until it rested on the Vanguard's azure shoulder, the opening pointing forward. "Today's another great day to die… for them." he said as energy levels hit maximum and a dark, semi-transparent energy projectile burst forth from the barrel of the Mejeele-designed weapon, tearing through everything in its path, including those Cube Ejectors and a couple of Vandreads.

            "HEH, HEH!" he shouted at the sight. That didn't last for long, though, as he saw some sort of dimensional rift open up just beside Nirvana and spurt out some bright ball of white light. He squinted at its blinding spectrum level, although it wasn't to the point that he couldn't fight anymore. He launched a slug from his D-13 Shot Cannon that hit a nearing Vandread Meia, exploding on impact and destroying the red bird-like machine. "Strange things just keep happening these days."

***

            "Team A, engage in formation Zeta and follow my lead. Team B will go with Jura under formation Gamma, while Team C will—" Meia Gisborn was cut off as another voice radioed to her via com-link.

            "Sorry, Meia, but this is my call." Varoa shot, "Teams C and D, follow my lead under crossover formation Omega-Pi." If Varoa knew anything at all that made perfect sense, it was to never interrupt Meia whilst she was coordinating flight plans. The redhead pilot knew that her superior believed combat formation determined the outcome of the battle and respected that. Why she did so, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The only reason this Dread pilot could conjure up was that she was getting pissed of being ordered around for several years by somebody who was much younger than her and just flipped her top.

            "Come again, Varoa?" came the icy-cold reply that could only be matched by Gascogne's own piercing stare that she hadn't even seen herself, "I'm not reading you clearly."

            _Oh, boy._ In her book of translations, that was Meia's way of saying, "Clarify that statement to me so that I don't have to think twice in order to decide to unload all of my ammunition on you, you weak, pathetic, and insubordinate moron." _What to say?_ Her radar had already notified her of Teams C & D's acknowledgement of her orders—she veered her Dread out of the way to avoid an oncoming cube fighter, _These guys are so suicidal, they're scaring me!_

            A sigh of relief escaped her lips as a final transmission came from her leader, "We'll settle this after the fight, you hear me?" She could see four machines crashing into each other, coalescing to form the by now, well known Super Vandread, which began a murderous frenzy that tore through walls and walls of the Earth's nearly countless forces.

The Dreads, Vanguards, Meranosite fighters, and Super Vandread engaged the harvest fleet head-on, laser rays, missiles, and close-combat weaponry embracing and doing a death dance with photon pellets, semi-organic metalloid needles, and plasma beams. This was going to be another long battle. Of course, musings were always interrupted when they were at their highest peak, such as what happened at the moment. A vortex temporal and spatial in nature burst open just a few hundred meters starboard of Nirvana, spitting out a bright sphere of blinding light. 

Varoa could only shield her eyes and squint as it materialized into a humanoid figure, clad in a shining white aura and some sort of armor. Six pairs of glowing white tendrils protruded from its back, giving the professional dread pilot the impression that they were wings of some kind. It carried a massive sword that looked as though it were aflame and her awe only greatened when it seemed to increase in size to the point that it was just as big as your average Vandread. 

To top it off, it defied the law of soundlessness in space as she clearly heard a voice originate from it, resonating to all the other Allied forces in the sector, "Misuse and corruption of the Pexis shall not be tolerated! Even if you humans have done so in your ignorance!" as it began slashing through hoards of Cube Ejectors, its tendril-like 'wings' spearing through the small cubes as though they moved of their own accord.

She apparently heard an open channel cry from Hibiki as Super Vandread continued destroying the enemies with its impressive weaponry, "Whatever that thing is, we can't let it do all the heroics!" _Just like a man, not to let up his pride._ She thought as she continued unleashing her Dread's energy pulses into the fray.

***

            Hibiki Tokai grinned in his seemingly indecent position in the Pexis enhanced fighting machine. When talking indecent, we were talking about having Dita Liebely sitting on his lap with Meia Gisborn behind them and Jura Basil Elden on the lower side in front. A very peculiar Command Nexus, similar to those in some giant robot anime. But in the most indecent and precarious position of all was Navi-Unit 0366, AKA Pyoro who was suspended into Super Vandread's collar, exposed to all the fighting. They've been like this for the past few minutes, destroying countless of the Harvest's minions who had no relent whatsoever.

            All that changed when a portal of some kind surged open and out flew a mysterious being with a tinge of holiness to it. Hibiki didn't really give a damn about where it came from. The important thing was that it was helping them fight against the enemy. "Whatever it is, we can't let it do all the heroics!" the powerful fighting machine lunged forth, bearing its destructive laser blade and swinging it with exact precision at whatever Earth force it could strike.

            A dark copy of the Nirvana unleashed its massive red beam at the foursome, Super Vandread countering it simply by generating a barrier, which when hit, caused the crimson energy force to subside. They were approaching their target fast: The Earth's Version of Super Vandread, which, no doubt, had something up its sleeve. The two counterparts charged towards each other head-on, like two knights jousting in the arena of the king. That was until a sleek dart of white light made contact with the carmine fighting machine's torso, resulting in a violent explosion that left nothing whatsoever in its place. 

            Super Vandread wheeled around to face the cause, the mysterious being itself, its face, if it had one, concealed from them by a hood, glowing slits that could possibly stand for eyes being the only visible objects under the darkness of the cover. "Stay back, for you still have much to learn in the field of battle. You must know that attacking your enemies recklessly without sense of direction could cost you your mortal lives." It flew head-on, towards the mothership, its size growing to that of a Nirvana copy, its aura being more than enough to destroy oncoming cubes while its wings reverted to destroying their Ejectors. 

            It focused a great amount of energy into its lethal burning sword, preparing to deflect the blast from the Earth Mothership's main cannon. It held the weapon back as it proceeded with great speed, surpassing that of Vandread Meia. The purple harvest vessel unleashed its deadly plasma blast, smaller forces retreating to a safe distance as it tore through space headed directly for the mysterious entity. The being halted and prepared its sword to deflect the nearing deadly beam of yellow particles. Just as it neared making contact, the entity that was Elysian in origin swung its sword at the plasma shot, batting it towards another mothership, destroying the other vessel. 

It carried on towards the mothership, preparing to strike. Other small forces were either swept away by its aura or were countered by its wings. "Let this be a lesson to all who dare corrupt the Pexis under the watch of Elysium!" it thrust the ignited blade into the Harvest ship's main cannon port, twisting it 180 degrees as its eyes' glow brightened. It pulled the weapon out and retreated as it charged an energy ball in its free hand to finish the job. It unleashed the small yet destructive sphere of white light at the damaged carrier, whose semi-organic surface by that time, had pulses of electric energy surging all over it. The ball of light crashed directly into the hull, causing a chain explosion that literally ripped it apart. All this time Super Vandread continued its crusade towards other Motherships, followed by Allied fighters, battle suits, and battleships who never ceased to continue firing.

***

            Anli stared grimly at the status reports that came flashing into the dark room. This was the command center that controlled the latest Black Project that the Mejeelian Government had recently completed: Project GC-01, the innocent obscurity of its true name to those involved in the project: The Grand Cannon. Clichéd and simple enough, Grand Cannon was the best way to name it. Their scientists were able to salvage parts from the remains of the Planet Destroyer, put a few tweaks into the glitches in its system, and place the reconstructed version on the satellite. Their technology was able to advance its power to destroy far more than just a planet. The blast could now penetrate planetary shields without the least resistance at all and vaporize it completely.

            "Three minutes until GC-01 is in optimal firing position, Lady GrandMa." One of the technicians reported.

            "Send word to all Allied ships within estimated line of fire to pull out." The Matriarch leader of Mejeele replied, "We don't want them to die now, do we?"

            The technician tapped several keys onto the panel. "Message has been sent, Lady GrandMa."

            Anli made no reply. She sat there on her command post in silence, thinking about how this would affect the battle. Hopefully, it would turn the tides the other way around, helping them gain victory once more this time around. If it failed, well, they always had a few nukes stashed away on an abandoned asteroid facility somewhere in the belt. Her chronometer ticked away as she continued to think of possible options if the nuclear strike failed as well.

            "Lady GrandMa, GC-01 is in optimal firing position, Power levels are at maximum efficiency, and all Allied Ships within the line of fire have pulled out as you have requested."

            "The time is upon us. It's now or never." GrandMa had made up her mind. She was going to make the first shot a colossal one. She stood up and thrust her frail and aged index finger at the virtual wire frame of the battle zone, "Fire the Grand Cannon! Target point Delta 13-84 Cross Y-zone Omega!" she needn't have spoken anymore as the readings indicated massive power surges in all sectors, the holographic image of the satellite on display recoiling as a blast of verdant light erupted from the main port, erasing all within the line of fire, including asteroids and stray ships.

            A virtual explosion on main screen brought a smile to the elderly Mejeelian Matriarch's lips, "Detonation confirmed, Lady GrandMa. Damage reports target Mothership destroyed, along with three others nearby. Collateral damage has been done to two others just outside the blast radius. Total damage taken into account: Four ships destroyed with two suffering heavy damage. Another two have been destroyed for some unknown reason. Total Motherships in peak fighting condition remaining, two… the ones caught in the blast seem to be malfunctioning. I think our force can move back in and take them down."

            "Let this be a lesson to Earth for being so stubborn. Hopefully, they will learn from their mistakes." She sat back down and placed her wrinkled hands on her matriarchal cane, still smiling serenely as she closed her eyes. It was as though she had finally found the peace she never had since the construction of GC-01 began, like a great burden lifted from her. As one of the great Presidents of the ancient terrestrial nation of the United States of America once said, "The buck stops here." The burden of spending billions of credits and resource points in the construction of this super weapon has been converted into the responsibility, the buck, as how they put it, of caring for and utilizing it wisely. And that buck was very pleasant indeed.

***

            Dochmarael continued slashing at a third mothership, ignoring the smaller implements that were hitting hard at him. Strangely enough, all anti-harvest forces had retreated to form a kind of gap between the two subdivisions of the allied fleet. It was like they were making way for something. He did not mind it at all, though, as long as they were still fighting against the enemy. His prime objective was to suppress the Earth's corrupted Pexis and abruptly end the Harvest Project once and for all after pacifying the conflict within the area. 

He had to take the side of the defendants in this situation, although usually he would lead an assault on rebellious elements in the Terrestrial realm, which occurred several times before. Every time the terrestrial realm needed policing instead of re-initialization, he would be sent there, along with a Gardia Templar force under orders from Paradise to stop the chaos that would lead to the destruction of the species… even though in the end, Paradise would just order them to fall back to make way for re-initialization.

            He stopped short at cutting through the last Nirvana copy when he sensed a great amount of energy headed in his general direction. He turned to see the source of this disturbance and finding it caused his eyes to widen. It was a bright green energy blast moving at great speed towards him. Time seemed to stop momentarily, and he could actually see the particle shot slow to a halt as he made a quick contemplation of the situation he was in, _So that's why the Anti-Harvest forces had retreated from this sector! They had moved over to their last resort—the ultimate human weapon capable of destroying an entire planet!_

            As he finished thinking this, the bright jade energy beam began to move again, straight on a collision course with his being. Raw instinct took over as he maneuvered his sword into a defensive stance in front of him. That was the only reaction he was able to make before it made contact with his sword, the holy white flames of the sacred altar flickering at the immense amount of power contradicting it. He fought it for a few moments, but it was gaining a foothold, and began to push him directly towards the mothership he was hacking at just instants before.

            He moved slowly backward, but not of his own accord. The blast was simply forcing him to recede. He decided that it was time for plan B, _But where to find a human suitable for becoming my—_ his slit-thin eyes had laid themselves on the perfect candidate. Super Vandread had just separated and was returning to their mothership. One of them would most certainly be the perfect one. He had no time to decide which, though. 

Without thought, he quickly shifted what remained of his energy into transmuting his composition into astral matter, a process that could easily be reversed, and used the remainder of that to propel himself out of the deadly radiance's path. Off balance did he hurl through space at an incredible speed towards the cluster of four machines, randomly into one of which he would inevitably crash into. The Creator be willing, the human pilot of the vehicle would be understanding enough to allow his company even for a brief period of time.

            He felt a surge of inter-dimensional energy run through his now astral being, as his eyes closed, the last image of which caught was a glimpse of a white surface. Then there was coldness; a silent coldness; one that could only possibly be described as the feeling of death itself; a feeling that one such as he should never even dream to face in all eternity. He was immortal, ageless. It had been eons since he last contemplated how old he was, thus he failed to recall. Did he even have a beginning to begin with? Being existent for so long could really wear the mind out, and that would only dampen the effectiveness of his plan. He decided to rest for the time being, and awaken within a few minutes.

***

            The land of Paradise was one of such great glamour. It was nearly impossible for any human to describe it. In the center of all the greatness, the Nexus and source of it all, stood the great throne of the Creator, whose splendor alone hid his true form. His voice was that of thunder, and caused great resonations whenever he spoke. He sat on his throne, his smile not evident at all except that the bright light surrounding him became practically blinding, as his trusted servant and messenger, Raphaielo, entered his presence and kneeled with great humility at his throne's foot.

            "My Liege has commanded to see me?" the Cherubim asked.

            "Raphaielo, a new chapter in the book of the Terrestrial realm has been opened. The Elysian Archtemplar Dochmarael has begun his struggles to win humanity a reprieve from re-initialization." The Creator paused momentarily to see the Cherubim's reaction, "What have you to say of this?"

            "Surely, my Liege has no need of my opinion for the fact that he already knows what I am to say."

            "Then say it, Raphaielo." Came the reply.

            "My Liege would know that I was to say that it is a noble, yet foolish act to disobey the protocol given to the Elysians to do such a thing. He must truly love humanity as though it were his own offspring."

            "Indeed, Raphaielo. It is a very foolish thing to do. And yet, I am amused by this occurrence as though it were a form of entertainment of some sort." The Creator seemed to relax a little from his usually uptight and alerted position.

            "Shall I summon the Seraphim Unit to site in order to begin re-initialization?" 'Yes, do so,' was the usual reply Raphaielo expected of his master, yet somehow, he did not feel as though that would be the case this time around. The Creator has been known to allow 'enjoyable' events to continue until they ended in the past, and this was what he considered, verbally, an enjoyable event.

            "Nay, my faithful Cherubim. Sit at my feet and observe this event with me. Dochmarael has just taken a turn that would lead to many interesting and amusing complications in this occurrence, and although I alone know the outcome, I attempt to stay the thought from entering my mind in attempts to keep the fire of entertainment burning. I know already the trials he and his human partner shall face, and the first off would be misunderstanding of the two." He let out a chuckle that resonated all over the vast land of Paradise, which was very accustomed to such bursts from their Creator. The troubles were only beginning, and they were going to be harsh. Since the Creator said so, that could only mean that every single word of it was true.

            Author's Notes: Well, that was long. Not that long, really. Take note that I am not attempting to blaspheme Christianity or any such religion here. I just wanted something of a more Fantasy setting, without the usual blowing things up with all sorts of high-tech weapons, but maybe some spice of mystic beings on top. You know the drill, just pick the Submit Review option from the bottom of the screen, and click the Go button to go! No flames please, either.

"Man's unfailing capacity to believe what he prefers true rather then what the evidence shows to be possible and likely has always astounded me. We long for a caring universe which will save us from our childish mistakes, and in the face of mountains of evidence to the contrary we pin all our hopes on the slimmest of doubts. God has not been proven not to exist, therefore, he must exist."

—Academician Prokhor Zakharov,

  'For I Have Tasted the Fruit,' ALPHA CENTAURI


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